Whisperings of Angels
by Tidia
Summary: If demons can possess people, why can't angels? They had never come across it, but the Winchesters hunted evil not good, so angels did not run in the same circle. Using Ridley's Caleb. Teenage Dean and Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**The Whisperings of Angels**

**By Tidia**

**Notes: This is a gradual building fic. I am using Ridley's Caleb G . This features teen Dean and Sam. All erros are my own, because if I didnt start posting this now, then I would have chickened out. LOL--Ridley pushed me. Warnings for language (not much but may as well say something).**

Part 1

Seventeen year old Dean Winchester sat on the bench in Southmont Senior High School's courtyard. It was a brilliant spring day in Indiana, the first warm day and many students took their lunch outside. For the oldest Winchester brother, having lunch outside was normal. He did not need the socialization of the cafeteria. It made him a loner, but having friends meant sharing and answering questions. Dean was not about to answer questions.

He transcended the social structure of school. He was a jock, playing baseball in a Division 3 school, so he would never draw attention to his talents. He was good, and helped his teams get to the finals. The Mounties had lost last year, but this could be their year. Dean did his homework, passed tests and was well-liked because no one knew him.

The usual students were in the courtyard, shifted to the fringes by the mainstream teens. The Goths, the rockers, the anti-social, smokers and burnouts each had their own sections in the grassy area. Dean recognized a bit of himself in each group.

One of the Goth girls, her hair died an eggplant color and twisted into dread locks gave him a nodded greeting. He jutted out his chin in acknowledgement. Her heavy dark eye makeup accentuated her blue eyes, and pale skin. Dean remembered her name was Brenda. She usually wore dark lipstick too, but had eaten it off during lunch. She had a thin frame, and the black jeans and baggy shirt made her look too skinny.

The bell rang; giving a ten minute warning that lunch period 'A' was concluded. Dean crumpled his brown bag. Peanut butter and jelly again with a granola bar and soda from the vending machine. Sam had the same lunch. On Friday, Dean gave Sam lunch money to eat at the cafeteria, but other than that money was tight and peanut butter was cheap.

He tossed the bag in the trash before entering the school again. He shifted his Chemistry book to his other arm, using his right to push his hair off his forehead. When summer came he would buzz cut it again. The shorter haircut was easier on the road and to deal with in the hotter climates.

After school he headed to baseball practice. Taking the field in his role as third baseman, Dean punched his fist in his well worn glove, keeping alert and his hands occupied. Austin came to bat, calling out to his teammates. "I'm feeling a homerun, boys."

The eldest Winchester brother laughed. Austin had yet to get a homerun in his two years at varsity level baseball.

From first base, Craig called out to the coach. "Hey, Coach Waynes, if Austin gets a homerun can go home early?"

"He does it, practice is over." The coach yelled out. "Come on, look sharp boys."

Dean was not counting on being home at an early hour. Monday and Wednesday was baseball practice after school. Then home for homework and to cook dinner. On Tuesday and Thursday he checked on Sam before heading to work at the hardware store where he helped to restock. The weekends were reserved for hunting trips.

The incredible happened; on the second swing Dean heard the familiar sweet crack. It was a home run. The team rushed forward, whooping and yelling, tackling Austin who was standing dazed at his accomplishment.

The young hunter still had a smile on his face when he walked through the door of their rented house. It was a clapboard structure, with too many drafts, but it had the necessities, all in working order.

"Hey," Dean greeted his brother, coming out of the kitchen with a package of Oreo cookies under his arm.

"Hey," Sam stated, his eyes flicked to the brown plaid couch. The remote control lay there invitingly.

Dean dropped his books, as his younger brother flung the cookies away. The lighter haired brother dove for the remote, only making it skid to the ground. Sam pounced on top of his older brother. Dean grunted, bringing his knee up, he gained leverage and flipped his brother. He placed his forearm on his brother's throat and reached for the remote control, releasing Sam once it was firmly in his grip.

The younger brother pushed him off, sitting up. "What are you doing home early?"

Dean sat on the couch, and turned the television on with a flick of his finger. "Coach called it a day, 'cause we're that good." The older brother waved the remote in front of Sam and then snatched it back. "_We are the Champions. . ." _He sang the Queen song louder as he noticed his younger brother pouting. "Sammmy, I hooked up the cable."

"You are stealing the cable from the neighbors." Sam stood up, going to fetch the discarded Oreos.

"I love them—they have premium channels." Dean went through the television channels at a fast rate, looking for something that would catch his eye. Sam sat next his brother. "Don't you have homework?" The lighter haired brother sighed, wanting a few moments to unwind on his own.

Sam took apart the Oreo cookie and licked the icing before replying. "Don't you?"

Dean pushed at his brother to get him to move off of the sofa. "Yeah, but I like a little background noise." His brother shrugged his shoulders, and got up to leave. "Leave the Oreos." The older brother ordered the younger, who just laughed, and bit into another cookie.

"Dad coming home tonight?" Sam asked with black crumbs on his lips.

The older teen decided on a repeat of Baywatch. Their father had gone on a hunt for werewolves, and would more than likely be back on Wednesday. Sam knew this, but still asked believing that Dean at seventeen was kept better informed. "Nah, I don't think so. What do you want for dinner?'

Sam grabbed a handful of cookies and then tossed the package to his brother, "Breakfast."

Dean nodded. He enjoyed pancakes and bacon for dinner too. The Winchester boys found breakfast foods easier to cook than real dinner foods. "Okay, I'm working tomorrow so I'll pick up Chinese food on my way home."

The next day, Dean swung his backpack onto one shoulder and filed out with the other students. The teenager was always aware of his surroundings. He scanned the area as he walked to the Impala. Off to the side, Brenda sat on a park bench. They were in the same English class; she sat on the right by the door. She had been absent in class.

Caleb would call it, 'Damsel in Distress Syndrome,' but Dean justified it as taking the long way to the car.

"Hey," he announced himself, resting his backpack on the park bench, pretending to look for something as he opened one of the pouches.

"Winchester," she replied, flicking her eyes up in recognition of her classmate. She wiped her eyes, the dark makeup smudging under her tears.

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Are you okay?"

She blinked a few times, but still the tears escaped. Roughly, this time, she wiped at them. She looked at the makeup that had transferred to her hand, and then gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

The young hunter returned his backpack to his shoulder. He still wanted to keep the inquiry casual. "You weren't in school today."

"You keeping tabs on me Winchester?" She chuckled, but the laughter didn't reach her still sorrowful eyes.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "No, I just notice things."

Brenda bit her lip, and gave him a nod, "Me too."

Dean glanced at his watch. "Do you need a ride home?" He figured he would give the girl one last chance by offering her a ride. There wasn't more he could really do.

She shook her head. "No, I'm waiting for someone."

The eldest Winchester brother studied her once again, reaffirming he didn't have time to get involved with his fellow students and their problems. He had his own to deal with, "See you around." Dean stated as he walked quickly to the Impala.

He needed to check on Sam, before going to work. He went through the house in a whirlwind. Dropped off his books at the door, went into the kitchen where he found a note from Sam, "Went to the library," the oldest Winchester brother read it out loud. He pinned the note back on the refrigerator, writing that he would be home by 7. Dean opened the refrigerator, pulled out the milk and took a swig from the carton. He ate the remaining Oreos, mentally noting he had to add them to the grocery list. He collected the sack of laundry. On his way to work he would drop it off at the laundry mat. A little flirting and Brigitte, the nineteen year old manager, would have it ready for him after work.

By a little after 2 he was at Palmer's Hardware and Lumber Company, stacking boxes and unloading others. He hated the smell of wood. Dean had thought it had a clean smell, but after a few hours it made him nauseous. He stopped gagging after the first day, but the smell lingered on his clothes and even after taking a shower he was sure it would occasionally waft up to him as if it was in his pores. But, he could come and go as he pleased and he was paid in cash.

At 6 he called it a day. It had started to rain, and Dean ran to the Impala so as not to get too wet. There was parking on Darlington Avenue in Crawfordsville, the town next door to Darlington. His first stop was to Beijing Chinese Restaurant to put in his dinner order- Chicken Fingers, Terrayaki Beef, Spareribs, Kung Pow Chicken, and Pork Fried Rice. The laundry mat was a few doors down.

"Hey, Brigitte," he said to the blonde, seated on a stool reading the latest Cosmopolitan in the heated room.

She smiled as she folded up the magazine and put it to the side. She spoke softly to the teen. "Hey, Dean, your bag is right there." She pointed to the tall duffle bag. "I used some fabric softener too."

The young hunter smiled. The towels were getting rough. He would have to replenish their supply at their next motel stay. "So, maybe next weekend?"

"Maybe," she tucked her hair back, shyly.

"You know that I wear boxers and all I get is a maybe?" Dean had been playing this game with her since finding the laundry mat. He didn't actually want to date Brigitte and ruin the great arrangement.

She got back on the stool and blushed as she answered. "I like the plaid ones."

He winked at her. "I'll remember that."

Dean dropped the laundry bag back at the car, and then returned for his Chinese food order. The brown paper bag was sitting on the counter, with a small bag of fortune cookies stapled to the top.

As he pulled into the drive, the Impala's headlights highlighted his father's truck and the rag tag Jeep parked along side it. In one hand he held the laundry, and he tucked the Chinese food bag under his other arm. He opened the door to the house, and saw Caleb lounging on the couch. A neat white bandage was over his left eye. Dean tossed the laundry at the family friend, hitting him in the stomach.

"Uhh," Caleb exclaimed, pushing the bag off and rubbing his stomach.

"I didn't get enough Chinese food."

Reaves stood up, stretching his arms up long. "Well, you'll just have to go back out again."

Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows with a taunt. "Make me."

Sam walked through the living room, pulling the bag out of his brother's hands. He glanced at both young hunters, and shook his head at their antics. "They stopped at KFC." He informed Dean.

The teen smiled. "Smorgasbord," Caleb walked over to Dean who put his fist out. Caleb brought his fist up and bumped it up against Dean's in greeting. "How did it go?"

"Three werewolves," Reaves smiled, knowing the oldest Winchester brother would be jealous. They walked into the small kitchen together where John had laid out the food and paper plates.

"You didn't take a token of the hunt again-did you?" Sam asked as he sat down, piling his plate with the Colonel Sander's best.

"You remember the last time. . ." Dean said laughing, remembering the incident of a year ago.

Caleb took the container of spareribs and shook some onto his plate. "Yeah, like how was I supposed to know the stupid thing would come back to life."

"I _told_ you." Sam replied. His brother prided himself on providing research for the hunters.

"You tell me a lot of things. . ." Reaves bit into one of the spareribs with a grin.

"And you ignore me." The youngest Winchester finished off the sentence for the hunter.

Dean thought that in the future Caleb would listen to Sam, because being attacked by a demon goat had wounded Reaves and also injured his ego. "What taxidermist would have mounted it for you anyway?" The teen interjected.

"Bobby," Caleb shrugged his shoulders as if the Winchesters should have assumed the answer. Reaves waved a chicken wing, and changed the subject. "How's baseball?"

"Good, this kid Austin. . ." Dean started the story of his teammate's homerun, but was interrupted by his father.

"Did you pick up what I needed at the auto parts store?" John asked, taking a swig of beer.

Dean dropped his gaze. "No, I thought you wouldn't be home until tomorrow. Sorry, sir."

The silence from his father was one of disappointment. Caleb cleared his throat, and described the werewolf hunt, adding in his own asides to the enjoyment of the Winchester brothers. Reaves had John grinning before long. The plates were disposed of, and the two brothers headed upstairs to finish homework.

"You crashing on the couch?" Dean asked Caleb as he fetched his book bag. He was hoping the other hunter would stay awhile.

"Yeah, gotta head out tomorrow. A construction gig," Reaves explained as he made himself comfortable on the couch with a beer in one hand and the remote control in the other. "Are you _disappointed_?"

"Hell, yeah, I needed some extra cash and you lose at pool so well." Dean paused at the stairs, which led to the upstairs bedrooms.

Caleb placed a finger on his temple and rubbed, mimicking his actions when he was using his psychic abilities. "Or maybe you're not getting any action and need someone to lead the way."

"I'm not anyone's wingman." Dean raised his middle finger and started up the stairs.

Reaves laughed at the teen's response, "Hey, not making any promises, 'cause shit happens, but maybe I can make one of your baseball games."

Dean stopped on the landing, and chuckled, "What you going to embarrass me? 'Cause I will so introduce you as my uncle."

"Really, but if you are going to pull that uncle shit. . ." Caleb rubbed his chin. "When is your next home game?"

The younger hunter shrugged his shoulders and headed up the remaining stairs. "Schedule is on the refrigerator." He didn't count on Caleb actually coming to the game. A lot of promises to Dean had been broken in his seventeen years so he didn't put much stock into them.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Whispering of Angels Part 2**

**By: Tidia**

**Author's notes: I am posting this at the SN Fanfiction site at yahoo groups and Thank you for all your kind reviews. This is a slow fic with slices of life and a plot. All mistakes are mine. Thanks for Ridley who keeps prodding me along on this fic. Ohh, and Wills made me add the injury.**

End of Part 1

The younger hunter shrugged his shoulders and headed up the remaining stairs. "Schedule is on the refrigerator." He didn't count on Caleb actually coming to the game. A lot of promises to Dean had been broken in his seventeen years so he didn't put much stock into them.

--

Part 2

Dean groaned out of bed at six o'clock. The florescent light flickered before coming to full brightness and lighting up the bathroom. The teen showered, letting the hot water work through his shoulders then turning to have it fall on his face. Finishing, he put on his usual jeans and t-shirt and went to wake up Sam.

Dean called out at first, but his brother slept on, slacked mouth and oblivious to the morning hour. Next, the older teen shook the bed, which elicited a moan. "Time to get up, Sammy." The older brother repeated, and then left the shared bedroom to prepare breakfast and their lunches.

A rumpled sheet on the couch was all that remained of Caleb. An unwashed coffee cup in the sink was the vestiges of his father, who returned to his job as a mechanic at the local Jiffy Lube.

The older teen opened the refrigerator, setting out the carton of milk and grabbing 4 eggs. He poured the coffee remaining in the carafe into his cup, perturbed that it was only half a cup.

Sam shuffled in, and Dean scraped two scrambled eggs in his plate. He shoveled the food in his mouth, while the older brother ate out of the frying pan. Fifteen minutes later they were out of the house.

Students were congregating outside. Dean pulled over to the curb.

"Going to stop the car first this time?" Sam asked, as he went for the door handle..

"If you didn't take so long to wake up, we'd be on time." The older Winchester brother replied, putting the Impala in park, but revving the engine to get the attention of the other students. Sam alighted from the vehicle, and Dean to embarrass his brother yelled out: "Make good choices, Sammy!"

He pulled away from the middle school laughing, and still had a smile on his face as he parked in the high school lot. He ran into the school to make it homeroom before the bell rang.

At the end of the day he headed to the locker rooms to suit up for baseball practice. The coach had worked them hard, to make up for their previous abbreviated practice. He took a quick shower, and walked out to head home.

"Winchester," Brenda, the Goth girl, was leaning against the chain link fence.

Dean kept walking to the car. His brother and father would be expecting him. "Who's stalking who?"

She caught up to him. The silver chains that hung on her neck jingled. "What? I'm not good enough to talk to? Going to ruin your reputation?" She called out to him.

To stopped for a moment, and turned. "I have a rep?" Thinking again, he shrugged his shoulders, and allowed her to catch up. "I gotta get home-you know how it is."

"Yeah," She kept up with Dean's pace and followed him around the car, as he put his baseball equipment in the trunk. "Listen, ummm, maybe you can help me?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. He didn't find Brenda attractive. It wasn't the Goth get-up. It seemed as if darkness permeated her soul. He was looking for quick fun flings with wide-eyed girls, not someone to make his own shadows apparent.

She chewed on the ends of her hair, letting the strands drop when she understood the meaning of his facial tick. "You are so not my type."

"Thanks," Winchester shrugged off the insult. He glanced at his watch. He was expected at home. He opened the car door.

Brenda placed a hand on the Impala's door so that Dean was unable to close it. "I was told you could help, that you deal with things that are out of the ordinary."

The teenager was startled. Recovering quickly he tugged forcefully at the door for the Goth girl to release it. "I don't know what you are talking about Brenda."

She held the door firm. "I know stuff about you, Dean Winchester." Then let the door go.

The blond slammed the door closed and turned the ignition, harshly pulling out of the parking space. Dean blasted Iron Maiden, trying to drown out the strange conversation. He felt a sinking sensation, not knowing if their big family secret was in jeopardy.

He decided not to mention Brenda's revelation to his father or brother. He needed confirmation first. He stayed silent during dinner, only answering direct questions, and planning a course of action. Dean cleaned off the table, set the coffee maker to make its brew in the morning then headed upstairs to do homework.

The next day, instead of going to work, he gave up the fifty dollars in pay to follow Brenda. He left the Impala at the school, deciding the car was too distinctive. He followed her on foot, as she first languished at school, then headed home. She didn't stay there too long. She left the cape with a slam of the door. The small white house was set close to the street.

Brenda ran down the street, stopping at a sandlot. She slowed down once she got there, and headed to the back of the lot where a few makeshift structures had been constructed. Some were boxes, others were piles of wood, just enough to provide protection from the elements. Dean knew this was where some of the homeless and junkies gathered. He kept his head down, not making any eye contact, but fully aware of his surroundings. The lot was vacant, at night there would be a greater risk, but in the daylight, the teenager felt secure.

He crouched down at the entrance to the wooden planked structure. Brenda sat there, smoking a cigarette as if waiting for him. "Winchester, you wanta a smoke?" She offered him the pack, then shook it. "But, you don't smoke." She smiled, and cocked her head to study him. "Drink a little, no drugs." She released the smoke slowly through her nostrils and sighed from the nicotine coursing through her. "Your mom would be proud. Would 'cause she's dead, your dad's a drifter and your brother's a dreamer."

Dean laughed, hiding the truth and the discomfort he felt at the summation of his family. "Are you making this stuff up?" He moved in closer to her, bending his knees and hunching over to fit in.

She grinned again and the smoke this time escaped through her mouth. "Nope, just what I'm told."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He had to tread carefully if he was going to be able to find a solution. "Who's telling you?"

"Angels," She gestured with the cigarette in the air, the ash of the tip falling to the ground. "They want me to help people." She ground out the cigarette, noticing there was nothing left. "You think I'm crazy?" Brenda entwined her hands then wiggled her fingers in nervousness.

The blond teenager was thoughtful. "Didn't say that." The Winchester family's line of work did not create skeptics. The brothers had been taught to question everything, to research and be well informed to deal with the supernatural. "What do they say?"

Brenda took a piece of her hair and placed the tips in her mouth. "They tell me things, especially about a little boy and he needs help." She pulled her hair back, and Dean saw the myriad of piercings on her ears. "Will you help?" She wrapped her arms around herself. Her too large dark sweater enveloping her, "Someone needs help right now. There's a fire." She crawled out. The blond teen followed her. "Come on!"

The Goth girl seemed distracted at first, and then steadfastly ran forward. She climbed the short chain link fence, catching the edge of her pants on the link. Dean was carefully pulling on the material to release her, but she tugged it, ripping the hem. Winchester easily jumped the fence and followed her to one of the track houses.

Studying the house, a fire was not apparent. There was no smell of smoke in the air. Dean crept up to the front door, feeling its coolness and then placed his ear against it. "There isn't a fire here, Brenda."

"There is, there is." She pounded on the door. Dean glanced around, hoping they were not attracting attention in the sleepy neighborhood. "We need to go inside. . ." She looked inside the window by the door.

"That's against the law."

"Like you haven't broken the law before," Brenda commented. She turned the door knob. "The door's open."

She stepped inside, and Dean followed her. He wished his reaction had been to run away. He just knew he was walking into trouble. Smoke was coming from the back room. The hunter ran ahead, pushing the Goth girl out of the way.

An elderly man had fallen asleep on a recliner in the porch, looking out to the backyard. Dean stomped at the flames to clear a path to the man. He kicked the ashtray, evidently the man had missed his mark. Flames licked at Dean. He hoisted the man on to his shoulder. He stumbled into Brenda, who had grabbed a blanket and threw it over the three of them.

Once outside, all three of them tumbled to the ground.

"Winchester! You're leg!" Brenda pointed to the side of his left jean leg. He was going to put the flames out with his hand, when the dark haired girl threw the blanket over the hunter's leg and suffocated the flame.

Not taking time to focus on his injury, they both turned to the elderly man. His eyes were open and he took in a deep breath, coughing violently as he exhaled. His hands shook, as he tried to get his breathing under control.

In the distance the teens could hear sirens approaching. Both stayed silent, Dean staring at Brenda and the possibility that someone had told her about the fire, or that she had psychic abilities.

A fire truck and an ambulance arrived at the scene. The small home was swarming with people as the neighbors couldn't resist the commotion. An EMT bent down in front of Dean. Two were helping the elderly man, immediately placing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

"Kid, let me take a look at you." The EMT rested a hand on the teen's chest. He took out his stethoscope to hear Dean's lungs and if he was suffering from smoke inhalation. "What's your name?"

"Dean, Dean Winchester," the hunter replied. He felt fine, and knew he hadn't inhaled enough smoke to cause him problems.

"It's his leg." Brenda waved off her own EMT, and pointed to the blackened area on the left pant leg.

The EMT ripped the end of the pant leg to expose the blister, which had formed on his left calf. "You really should get checked out at the hospital."

Dean shook his head. Already his father was going to be upset, and the teen didn't want to tack on having to explain a hospital visit. "I rather not, can you just bandage it up?"

The EMT cleaned the blister carefully with a saline solution, drenching the blue jeans along with it. "You should go to your doctor as soon as possible."

Dean nodded, appeasing the emergency worker.

From the EMT's case he pulled out a white cream and liberally applied it with a tongue depressor, handing over the remaining tube to Dean. "Wash it every day, apply this cream and bandage it. When it pops, you need to go to your doctor to have the skin removed. You shouldn't scar."

He helped Dean up, and the hunter could feel an ache in his calf. Regardless, it wouldn't stop him from playing baseball.

A police man waited for the two teens, and questioned them. They were given praise and then allowed to go on their way.

Dean walked Brenda back to her house. "Now do you believe me?"

"Maybe," He glanced at his watch. He needed to make his way back to the Impala and then to home. "What kinda of help do you want?"

She smiled. "We can talk about it tomorrow." She opened the door and went inside.

Tiredly, Dean entered the house, pulling his shoulders back to bring back an air of confidence to his stature. Sam was lying on the couch, a book in hand and looked up. His eyes narrowed when he saw the soot on his brother's face. He then glanced down and saw the pant leg. "What happened to you?" He announced, and got to a seated position. His father in the kitchen heard the question and came out to see what had occurred.

Dean hung his keys on the rack by the door. "I drove a friend home after school, and the next door neighbor's house was on fire, but we saved him." He relayed the well rehearsed story.

John's eyes went to the pant leg. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little singed on the edges." He opened the flap that the EMT had cut to show the white bandage. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Dean," John called out to his son, who was going upstairs.

"Yes, sir?" Dean wanted to escape the scrutiny and let his mind relax in the shower, plus the smell of smoke was nauseating and it had permeated every crevice of his clothing.

"You're not a fireman." His father said with reproach in his tone.

"Yes, sir," Dean smiled, thinking about his dream to be a fireman, but that had long since become a memory.

Feeling more refreshed after his shower, and placing his misgiving on hold, Dean regaled his father and brother with the story of his heroics. There was no modesty in this version. It was filled with puffed proud bravery.

The two brothers were on KP duty, while their father went to do preliminary research on a nearby hunt.

Dean dunked a dish into the soapy water, using a sponge he removed the remnants of Chef Boy R Dee Raviolis. "Sammy?"

"What?" The youngest Winchester snapped as dried a plate and placed it back on the cupboard.

"Never mind. . ." The older hunter hesitated, wanting to discuss the Brenda situation, but not sure if he should involve his brother.

"No, seriously, what?" Sam waited with the kitchen towel for the next plate.

Dean passed the wet dish to his brother, letting it rest in the towel. "Can I trust you?"

"Yeah," Sam grimaced and passed the plate back to his brother. There was still red sauce on the dish.

The older brother held on to the plate. "This girl in school knows stuff about me."

The younger sibling snorted. At thirteen he was getting a smart mouth and had picked up too much from hid older brother. "Told you size matters. . ."

"Jesus, Sammy, no," frustrated that Sam was joking at a time of seriousness; Dean closed up and returned to washing the remaining two dishes.

The younger teen noticed his brother's stone faced expression. "Well, what do you mean?"

"Mom, Dad, me, you. . ." Dean left the plate in the water, and rested his hands against the sink. "She says angels talk to her."

Sam remained silent for a moment. The younger Winchester was still inquisitive at his age, and was transforming the trait into being analytical. "If demons can possess people, why can't angels?"

Dean thought about it too. The idea was plausible. They had never come across it, but the Winchesters hunted evil not good, so angels didn't run in the same circle.

"You gonna tell Dad?" Sam asked, pushing Dean out of the way in order to finish off the remaining dishes.

"No," the older hunter shook his head. He had decided not to involve his father because John was blinded by the righteousness of his hunts. "She says she wants help."

Sam placed the dishes in the strainer, "Help?"

Dean pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, and sank down into it. "Some kid's in trouble and needs help." He looked up to his brother, who was leaning against the sink, "Can't hurt for us to look into it."

Sam smiled and nodded, "while Dad's away."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: First of all—thank you for all of the kind comments. I didn't want to start a new project with the season premiere approaching, so this was something safe and interesting to me, but I wasn't expecting any great review—thanks for the surprise. Next—I will be see the season premiere with my best buds—Ridley, Mog, Wills, and Leslie—WOOHOO! Enjoy, and I hope you like the twist (and I am wondering who saw it coming?). Ohh, there are another 2 parts after this because Caleb needs to make another reappearance.**

Part 3

Dean waited until lunch to approach Brenda. Although he always reciprocated with a hello, he wasn't one to seek companionship. When he neared the Goth girl's crowd they looked at him skeptically. With his short hair, jeans and long sleeve t-shirt he didn't blend with their crowd.

"Brenda," he announced himself to the girl. She had her back turned to him. She recognized the voice and turned with a smile.

"You wanna talk?"

He nodded.

"Later," she told her friends. Dean escorted her to a quiet corner of the courtyard. She squinted against the shining sun's rays. "So you believe me?"

Dean bent his leg, resting his foot against the cement wall. "Let's just say I'm willing to listen."

"Like I said, a boy needs help." Brenda shifted from foot to foot, pulled on her sweater sleeve, stretching it out so it covered her hand.

The young hunter ignored the nervous ticks. "Do you have any specifics?"

"Yeah, he's three years old, cute kid with dark hair. Lives over in Evansville. They gave me the address."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. It struck him as strange that the angels were so specific. "They gave you the address?"

She shrugged her shoulders and offered her explanation. "Yeah, how else would I be able to help him?"

Winchester accepted the answer, for now, although he would have Sam research angelic messages further. "What's going on with this boy?"

"Andy, that's his name. His family hurts him." She looked down and fiddled with her finger nails.

"Hurts him?" The tone in Dean's voice lowered.

"They hit him." She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears and one escaped. "He really needs help. Can you help?"

The young hunter watched as she wiped the black smudge of the tear away. He allowed her to compose herself before replying. "It's over three hours away," he stated the distance between Darlington and Evansville. He wanted to have time to watch the home and assess the situation himself. "We can go on Saturday."

She nodded. The bell rang signaling the return to classes. Dean walked ahead.

Brenda grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Heading back to class," he shook off her grip easily.

"I'll leave first and then wait a bit before going." She stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Why?" Dean sidestepped her, annoyed at the game she was playing.

"So no one gets suspicious."

"Of what?" He huffed, knowing the warning bell would be next.

"Us," she gestured with her finger at the two of them.

Dean stepped back, re-thinking the possibility he may not want to help Brenda if she thought there was something between them. "There is no us."

"Exactly," the Goth girl seemed relieved.

"Whatever," Dean crossed his arms, waiting for her to leave, and sensing something wasn't quite right. He watched her walk away. She knew just enough about Dean and his family that made him uncomfortable. There was no harm in following her lead for now.

John left on Friday night. He didn't need the boys on the particular hunt—just a simple poltergeist and he would return on Sunday night.

--

On Saturday morning Sam placed a cooler in the backseat with food and drinks for their day trip. He slid into the passenger side, while Dean got into the driver's seat.

"We're picking her up at the school." His brother announced as he started the engine.

"I did some research on angels. . ." Sam pulled out his notebook, and turned to his notes.

"What did you find?"

"A lot of people think they can communicate with their angels. Most people say that angels have helped them—like the mysterious hand that suddenly saves them from a fall or something that stops their car and they just avoid an accident." Sam flipped the page where he had taken some notes on historical events. "In the Bible an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream and instructed him to take Mary as his wife and to name her baby Jesus." Sam glanced at his brother to see if he was listening. "In 1944, the penniless wife of a pastor prayed for food and a few hours later, someone knocked on the door, and there was a young man carrying a basket with the food she wanted." The youngest Winchester paused.

"So it's possible." Dean interjected.

"It's always possible, you know that, but the thing is the angels are helping people, not people helping angels." Sam bit his lower lip in thought, "unless she's a saint or something?"

The older hunter snorted. "She's no saint, Sammy."

The younger boy agreed as they pulled up to the front of the school. Sam noticed the girl dressed in black smoking a cigarette. The youngest Winchester wondered what type of statement she was trying to make. He crinkled his nose and all he could think of was, 'freak.' She slowly walked to the car. Sam rolled down the window.

"This is my brother, Sam. This is Brenda." Dean made the introductions.

The sickly smell of cigarettes permeated her clothes. Sam did not give up his seat in the front. He had always been relegated to the back, doing this adventure was a fair trade. Sam hoped his brother had a strong enough air refresher, because if their father picked up the scent of cigarette smoke in the car then Dean would be in trouble.

She got into the back set and pushed the cooler over so she could stretch out her feet. She was quiet, and the youngest Winchester found it unnerving. They had three hours together, and Sam didn't want it to be unpleasant. He was inquisitive, and was looking for an opportunity to learn. "What does it sound like when the angels talk to you?"

There was no reply at first. Sam turned around. Brenda had her eyes closed; she was chewing on her hair. She spoke softly. "Like feathers caressing my ears so soft, sweet –it's melodic, like a daydream."

The youngest Winchester was confused. His brother had told him the so-called angels spoke about people needing help. "But they tell you terrible things."

She opened her eyes, crossing her arms as if she was trying to warm herself. "Yeah, but gently and I can help-somehow it makes it bearable." She stopped rubbing her arms. "Funny, you can't see them?"

"No, why would I?" Sam sat back in the passenger seat, and rolled his eyes at his brother in silent communication stating the girl was strange. He started laughing when he heard the soft snoring coming from the backseat. "Wow, she makes our family look normal." The thirteen year old whispered to his brother.

Dean grinned in response, and turned on the radio to his favorite station, WKHY.

Somewhere between the gas station and entering the city limits of Evansville, Sam had fallen asleep. Dean was prodding his shoulder to wake him.

"Come on, I need you to look at the map and find the street for me."

Sam shook his head, attempting to wake up. He fumbled for the map book. He had folded over the Evansville page earlier. He noted where they were, and directed his brother to Tamarack Court.

They found the house, and parked at enough of a distance to have the home in their line of sight.

"Now what?" Brenda asked from the back seat. She had woken up and was tapping her foot.

"We wait," Dean replied. "We have to make sure something is happening before we can do anything. . ."

"You don't believe me," she hissed, hitting the back of the front seat.

"Hey!" The older Winchester brother turned around. "We're here aren't we? I need to make sure-chill."

Sam watched the confrontation, which ended with Brenda giving a nod, and then dropping her head. "I need a smoke."

"Not in this car." Dean replied, giving a side long glance to his brother.

"Fine," she opened the car door and exited.

Sam peered over his brother to see what the Goth girl was doing. She had sunk down, leaning against the Impala out of view. The smoke from the cigarette mushroomed above her and then dissipated in the air.

"What's with her? And the black clothes?" Sam wanted to convince his brother to leave. If they left now, they could be home in time to go to the movies and get a bite to eat.

"Everyone has their issues, Sammy." Dean stated. He turned around and got the cooler out, bringing it to the front seat. He opened it up, and handed Sam one of the bologna and cheese sandwiches.

Sam took a bite, and fished out a can of Coke, wiping the condensation on his jeans. Brenda entered the car once more. The younger brother had packed her a sandwich too, and handed it to her. "You know nicotine doesn't make you calmer."

"Works for me," she pulled the sandwich from the plastic bag. She studied it for a moment before taking a nibble.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth. Outside the garage door to Andy's house opened. A tall man, who Sam assumed was the boy's father, came out with a bicycle. On the bike was attached a toddler seat. A short haired brunette came out next also pushing a bike. Andy toddled behind her, blond, smiling and talking with his mother.

His father called out to him, and the three year old came running. With a leap he threw himself into his father's arm. They both laughed and then Andy was placed in the bicycle seat.

The family peddled leisurely away, out of sight. Dean started the engine. "Great, a bathroom break."

Brenda leaned forward. Sam tried not to inhale the cigarette smoke they stayed stale on her clothes. "Aren't we going to follow them?"

"No," Dean pulled away from the curb as he explained. "I don't think anything will happen on a public street."

She crossed her arms, and huffed back. She remained silent during the trip to the Sunoco gas station. They exited the car upon arrival. Dean and Sam headed for the men's room, and Brenda heading towards the other bathroom.

The youngest Winchester returned to the car, while Dean went into the attached mini-mart. The seventeen year old came out of the store with a tray. Dean had developed a caffeine habit, but he would not let his brother have coffee. He handed him a cold chocolate milk. "Where is she?" The older Winchester had gotten a coffee for Brenda too.

"I don't know." Sam was annoyed. He did not have a good feeling about the situation. He was indifferent about Brenda herself. "That family seemed, you know, normal." The youngest Winchester compared every family to his own, and his own always came up short.

"No one's normal, Sammy." Dean took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "Everyone has their secrets."

"_My_ friends are normal." Sam thought of his junior high friends. Angels, demons and supernatural never came up in conversation.

Brenda exited the bathroom. Her large purse was worn across her body, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She flicked it to the ground and stamped it out. "Are we ready to go?"

Dean nodded and handed her the cup of coffee.

They parked near the house once more, keeping watch. The bicycles were parked outside, so the family had returned.

Dean gestured to his brother to pass him his books. Sam pulled out his literature book, and went to the marked page.

"You're doing homework?" Brenda snorted from the back seat.

Dean opened his notebook, and turned to the first blank page. "Yeah, some trig and then I need to write an essay about A Rose For Some Woman, I forget."

"I liked that story. It's a Rose for Emily and she just wanted something. . .she wanted control. . ." Brenda's voice drifted off into a whisper.

And Sam knew as different as the girl in the back seat was, she somehow was a kindred spirit. She was saying she was scared. Sam understood. He was afraid to lose control to his family. He didn't want to abdicate himself. Probably the reason he had been fighting with his father. Turning thirteen had been a turning point, filled with questioning John Winchester.

"What homework did you bring, Sammy?" Dean asked, always taking an interest in Sam's schoolwork.

"Sam," he corrected. "I have to memorize a stupid poem." Sam huffed. He wasn't fond of poetry. He wanted something concrete that would be useful in the future.

"Which one?" Dean wrote out an equation.

"The Road Not Taken," Sam glanced at the poem. Thankfully, after this unit was over they would be moving on to Huckleberry Finn.

"I had to memorize O Captain My Captain. What's crazy is that I still remember it." Dean paused for a moment. "My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will. . ." Dean cleared his throat, and returned his gaze to the notebook and his math problems.

"I still can't believe you do _homework_ on _stakeouts_?" Brenda repeated herself, in disbelief.

"Yeah, we're in school, not some cop show." Dean replied.

Sam laughed. Their best studying time was in the car, while Dad was doing something on a hunt. "Hey, they're back again."

Both Brenda and Dean stared out the window. The mother of the family was gardening; her son was playing in the yard with a plastic sword slaying imaginary dragons. They watched them for fifteen minutes. Sam was enthralled at the normalcy of it all. That child would not grow up knowing there were such things as demons.

"Brenda," Dean interrupted the silence of the car, "the kid seems fine to me."

"Winchester, the angels say that's the kid." Brenda practically growled the words at the hunter. "Anyhow, how would you know?"

"Doesn't flinch when his parents touch him, for one, and he looks happy." Dean answered, and Sam wondered where he had learned information about abused children.

"No, the angels…" She pushed at the backseat, punctuating her reply.

Dean's eye's flashed at someone mistreating the car. He turned, but in a second calmed down and spoke from level headedness. "Can be wrong, maybe a crossed wire or something? Maybe it was a premonition about something else."

Sam sensed the energy around Brenda had become charged. He added some words of comfort. "We're not saying we don't believe you. . ." Although internally Sam had doubts, and a glance at his brother verified Dean was also of the same inclination.

She looked at them both, and quickly pulled the handle to the door. She was out, and walking past the driver's side door.

"Where are you going?" Dean hissed out the Impala's window. He had opened it a bit so they would be able to hear what was happening at Andy's home.

"To save him!" She called out. She pulled up her hooded sweatshirt, covering her dark hair.

"Dammit!" Dean hit the steering wheel in frustration. He glanced at Sam, and opened the car door.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and grabbed a fistful of his brother's flannel shirt. "Wait," he suggested. Dean got back into the car, and they both watched the drama unfold, unsure on how to proceed.

Brenda had crossed the street. She walked up the front lawn, and bent down near the child. "Hey, Andy, do you know who I am?"

Andy's mother was at the side of the house. Her view obscured by a hedge she was weeding around.

"No," the child shook his head and backed away. Brenda stepped forward, and Andy called out, "Mama?"

The brunette peeked from around the bush with a smile, planning on reassuring her child she was nearby. The smile changed to a dark expression. "Andy! Come here!"

"You need to come with me. . ." Brenda reached towards him.

"No!" He stated and ran to his mother, who enveloped him in her arms, and covered his head in protection.

The father came from the backyard in a sprint. He stopped in front of Brenda, his hands ready to eliminate any threats. "What's going—Brenda, get away from him!"

Dean and Sam looked at each other in confusion. "What the hell?" Dean said out loud, knowing his brother didn't have an answer either.

"Janice, take Andy inside." The husband ordered his wife, placing himself between Brenda and his family to allow safe passage.

Brenda attempted to get around the man, who held steadfast. "No, that's my son! Uncle Leo, I want him back." She beat on his chest with her fists.

Brenda's uncle held her fists and pushed her away. "Leave before I call the police!"

She crumpled to the ground at his feet, "No!" She used his legs to climb back up and pushed him.

"You gave him up!" He took a step backwards, his face twisted with wrath. "You're sick, Brenda-look at you! Heroin addict! Leave! You're not fit. . ."

"Heroin?" Sam mouthed. "Dean?"

The older Winchester brother looked behind him, hearing the sirens. The neighbors exited their homes, congregating to investigate the commotion. He started the engine, glanced at Brenda and pulled away from the curb.

"Dean you're leaving her?" Sam turned all the way around, watching the distant drama until he could no longer see the home. "You said that angels talked to her. . .she said. . .and then she knew about that fire. . .and us." The youngest Winchester rambled, trying to make sense of the situation.

"I know, Sammy." Dean glanced in the rear view mirror, paying attention to the car behind them then making eye contact with his brother.

"Did she make it up?" Sam knew not everything involved the supernatural, but they had never had an incident where it was something outside of that realm. Their father had warned them of it, but they had feelings of immunity, knowing there was something else out there only a select few were privy to.

"I don't know." Dean sighed and shook his head. "I just. . .look Sammy, I couldn't risk it- you're too important."

"Dean, I'm fine..." Sam didn't want to be blamed for leaving Brenda behind, maybe their father's military instruction of leave no man behind was rubbing off on him.

"Not if the police came. I'd be in trouble, you would be in trouble and then we have to explain. . ."

"We would have been screwed." The young teen admitted. They needed to make a get away. His only concern was their father. "We're not telling Dad." Sam made the statement as one of support to his brother. He would go along with whatever Dean wanted.

"Hell, no," Dean replied. They drove into the dimming daylight with the radio on low, and their thoughts running high.

-

TBC. . .


	4. Chapter 4

Whisperings of Angels

Author's Notes: Well, it is so hard to write after that incredible season premiere, and the fact that I got to see it with Ridley, Mog, Leslie and Wills. But, must continue and there is one more part after this. Reviews are welcome, and I am glad you enjoyed the twist-it was something I had thoughts of playing with the 'what if there was nothing supernatural going on.'

Part 4

Dean wished Sam had fallen asleep on the over three hour drive back. They stopped at five for dinner at Wendy's. Dean wasn't in a rush to return home, because the world was suddenly distorted. They had never come across something which didn't involve the supernatural. On the other hand, they never went on their own hunt. The oldest Winchester brother assumed he was ready after he killed his first creature. But, he was far from prepared. Added to that, he had involved his little brother.

They were lucky their father would remain clueless.

However, the truck parked in the driveway meant Dean's luck had finally run out.

Sam saw the ominous black truck, "Ahh, Dean."

"I see it, Sam." Dean cut the lights, but didn't make any effort to move from the driver's seat.

"I'm with you, bro."

Dean appreciated the sentiment. He was not going to use his brother as a mediator or a shield. The older teen grinned. "Yeah, I know, but we shouldn't lie, well, we shouldn't lie to Dad."

Sam laughed nervously, but he didn't move. "Are we going inside?"

The older brother sighed, "Guess so." He opened the car door, looked longingly at the shelter of the car before he committed to entering the rental home. Sam lingered by the door, waiting for his brother so they could walk in together.

"Where have you two been?" John asked. He was waiting for his boys to come inside, alerted by the Impala entering the driveway. His arms were crossed. There would be no delay in explaining the situation.

Sam looked back at his older brother. Dean held the car keys in his hands, fidgeting them back in forth between his hands. "This friend of mine asked for some help..."

"A girl-friend or a boy-friend?" John didn't move from the entrance to the home. As an interrogator he was not about to allow Dean any comfort.

"Girl," the older teen sighed, knowing his father would jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Great, Dean, just great, and what kind of help did she need?"

"She said that angels talked to her and a little boy needed help." Dean felt awkward, because explaining it to his father made the situation sound preposterous. It was a case in which John needed to have been there to believe her. "But, it was all wrong." He held the keys in his right hand, feeling them dig in as he tightened his grip. "She was on drugs."

"Drugs? This just gets better and better." John narrowed his eyes, signaling to his sons his patience was wearing thin. "Crack?"

Sam stayed quiet, watching the exchange between his two family members. He stared at Dean, waiting for his reply then grimaced when he heard it.

"No, heroin." Dean flinched, but was surprised with his father's reaction.

"Continue," he said in a low tone as if trying to rein in his emotions.

Dean looked back at the keys. "She wanted to kidnap her kid. . . We left right away."

John exploded, took a step towards his son, then squeezed his hands into fists before looking away. "You took your brother with you? Jesus, Dean," he spat out the words his face burned red. "Kidnapping! Did they see the car?"

"No, they didn't notice us," Sam interrupted the tirade. "And I'm fine, Dad. No harm no foul." The youngest Winchester lifted his arms to show he was indeed in one piece.

John stared at his youngest son. "Go to bed, Sam."

The younger teen looked at his watch, which read eight o'clock, then back at Dean.

"'Night, Sam." Dean gave his brother a nod. Sam did not need to be present for the rest of the conversation. The older brother had accepted his fate. He deserved a lecture and to feel guilty.

"Night," Sam whispered to his brother. He glanced at him as he went up the stairs. Dean took the momentary reprieve to place the car keys on the hook. He stepped further into the house, and sat on the edge of the couch.

John gave Sam time to get to his room before he started in on his older son. "Jesus, Dean, you're hanging out with junkies?"

"Dad, I didn't know." The teen shook his head. He picked at the brown plaid couch. The coarse material irritated his fingers. "She said that angels talked to her," he licked his lips, "knew about mom, and us. . ." Dean cleared his throat as his voice became huskier. He wrinkled his brow. He still did not know how Brenda knew what she knew.

"Stay away from her, Dean. You hear me, boy." John pointed his finger at his son. He snorted with disgust. "I know you want to help people, but people like that..."

And Dean wondered why his father didn't recognize they were the people like that-hurting and lost. When did the Winchesters become better than another group? "She asked for some help." The teen attempted to rally and defend himself.

John interrupted. "Pretty girl?" he asked harshly, and didn't wait for a reply. "You and your brother, **your brother**, Dean, could have been in a lot of trouble." John uncrossed his arms, then crossed them again. His stance shifted slightly, showing he was holding his ground. He didn't try to narrow the gap between him and his son.

Dean knew there was a chasm between him and his father when he stated, "I expect better than this from you."

"If we have to move because of this stunt. . . " the sentiment trailed off, and John's lips formed a grim line. "I am very disappointed."

Dean's shoulders drooped. He was tired. He understood the family was placed in peril when there were insecurities and doubt. "Yes, Sir, won't happen again."

His father turned, abandoning him without an acknowledgement of hearing his son's misery.

Dean exhaled slowly, and got up from the couch. His leg throbbed. The blister had burst during the drive. His sock had absorbed the liquid. It was aching and irritating. He needed to clean the skin debris before infection set in.

He crept up the stairs, being careful to avoid the wooden creaks. He did not want to disturb his father. Instead he wanted to disappear into an anemic existence.

He kicked off his sneakers, and left them next to the door to the bedroom he shared with Sam. He didn't want to talk to his brother. Sam would say Dad didn't understand his teen sons. Dean understood too well, John relied on his eldest to be responsible. Some time wallowing in self pity was beckoning.

He padded into the bathroom. The fluorescent overhead light flickered and lit up the white tiled bathroom. The grout had worn away over time, leaving a graying hue to the small tiles, the floor snagging Dean's socks. He pulled out the first aid kit under the sink.

He stripped off his jeans, and crumpled them into the hamper. Sitting on the toilet he pulled off his socks, his left one sticking slightly as the liquid from the blister had set in. The yellowed gauze was exposed, and Dean loosened the tape from the edges. The paper tape came free easily. The burn cream he applied that morning had kept the gauze from sticking to the remnants of the large blister. The skin was pink and the blistered skin translucent in its color.

Clad only in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, he stood up and propped his leg up on the sink, tilting it at an awkward angle so he could remove the dead skin. He picked the tweezers and scissors from the kit, dipping them both in the bottle of alcohol in order to disinfect them. He pushed the dead skin up with the tweezers and cut with the scissors. The skin underneath was healing and sensitive. The haphazard hacking was causing irritation. Dean pulled the skin, pinching at the healthy skin. He smothered an expletive.

He concentrated on fixing his leg and didn't notice his father watching him at the door. The bathroom door needed a firm hand to close it or it would spring open slightly. In the Winchester household with three men, modesty or privacy was not warranted. Dean looked up when John cleared his throat.

Dean attempted to hide what he was doing, but gave up. "Just cleaning this up."

"Let me see that." John entered the small bathroom and ordered his son, "Sit down."

The teen did as directed. He shifted so his father would have easy access to the burst blister and be able to fit into the bathroom. Dean smelled the Jack Daniels on his father's breath. He closed his eyes for a moment from the guilt of his actions having sent John to seek some refuge in his old friend.

Dean opened his eyes and saw hit father deftly cutting at the skin. The teen swallowed. John scared Dean. He was their only parent, the provider of the family. If they lost him, Dean's thought was interrupted.

"It was a stupid move, Dean," John stated as he examined his work. He reached for the first aid kit and removed a bandage.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, watching his Dad wrap the white gauze around the calf.

John tore a piece of tape with his mouth and sealed the end of the bandage. "You're all set." He patted his son's leg.

Dean stared at the bandage, not wanting to face his father. "Dad, I'm really sorry." His actions had been foolhardy. He had risked there very existence for a stranger.

"Get some sleep." It was an order from father to son. John didn't want any further discussion on the matter.

Dean remained in the bathroom for awhile longer. It scared him, how much he wanted to help Brenda, believe in a cause. It would have been nice to help the good side of the supernatural. Believe there was actually a 'good side'. But, as usual there was no black and white. There was always gray. Dean sometimes thought his family could shine enough light on it and change it. This experience reminded him about being cautious, especially when he involved his brother, his family.

The oldest Winchester brother closed the emotions away for his subconscious to deal with at a later date. He stood up and shut off the light. He picked up his sneakers as he opened the bedroom door. "Hey, Sammy, you still have that stash of candy hidden in the false back of the desk?"

* * *

Please review!

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: I want to say a special thank you to Barb for sending me a lovely note. Because of you I added to Caleb's part. Ridley, myself and William Scott so far are also posting at SNfanfiction located at yahoogroups. Anyone can join. Thank you for the kind reviews! They have been a welcome surprise. You can now see the song that I was using as inspiration. I know many of you wanted more about angels, but I think Caleb explains it. Please review as I am curious about the feedback.

Part 5

She Talks to Angels  
The Black Crowes

She never mentions the word addiction  
in certain company.  
Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan  
After you meet her family.

She paints her eyes as black as night now.  
She pulls those shades down tight.  
Yeah, she gives me a smile when the pain comes.  
The pain gonna make everything alright.

Says she talks to angels.  
They call her out by her name.  
Oh yeah, she talks to angels.  
Says they call her out by her name.

She keeps a lock of hair in her pocket.  
She wears a cross around her neck.  
The hair is from a little boy,  
And the cross from someone she has not met, well, not yet

She don't know no lover,  
None that I ever seen.  
Yeah, to her that ain't nothing  
But to me it means, means everything.

She paints her eyes as black as night now.  
Pulls those shades down tight.  
There's a smile when the pain comes.  
Pain's gonna make everything alright.

Part 5

Dean looked for Brenda at school on Monday in order to avoid her. He ate in the courtyard at lunch and she was absent. In English class her desk remained empty. The class passed in their essay and had a discussion about 'A Rose for Emily.' Knowing how much she enjoyed the story, Dean began to believe Brenda may have been arrested or worse. The high school was small enough so by the end of the week, Dean knew he would learn about Brenda's fate.

On Tuesday, Dean sat in homeroom. His was talking to Alissa Clark. She laughed at Dean's off color comment, then pointed to the front of the room. Mr. Duncan arrived, dropping a pile of books on his desk. He pulled out the roster. He didn't look up as he said the names out loud.

He then went to the next sheet of paper, which contained announcements. Intermingled between Thursday's anonymous return of overdue library books and an upcoming art show, the teacher declared in his monotone voice, "Brenda Flemings died yesterday. Grief counseling is available through the guidance office."

There was a slight murmur. Dean could hear people asking their neighbor about 'the dead girl.' No one seemed to know Brenda Fleming existed.

After homeroom, Dean shuffled to his next class. Austin, his teammate, caught up with him. "Winchester didn't you know her?"

"Who?" He rebuffed Austin, and wished they would reach their next classroom soon so the conversation would cease.

"The girl that died?" His teammate pressed forward. He waved to Craig, another baseball player, who also joined them in the walk to history class.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Not me, man."

"She was whacked," Austin commented. Craig looked perplexed so he explained, "that girl who died, Brenda." Craig was still puzzled. "You know the Goth one?"

Craig nodded. "Like a witch with all that black - freaked me out."

Austin laughed, and Dean knew he had to laugh too. He had to go along with the crowd because if not then they would be suspicious. So he laughed, and revealed himself to be a Judas. Thankfully, they arrived at class, and after fifty minutes his teammates would forget about Brenda. He wouldn't. He would remember her. He would place it under a life lesson entitled, 'Natural Versus Supernatural.'

History class droned on with a discussion of the Cold War. His thoughts went to Brenda. He didn't know her. He didn't know she was a heroin addict. The clues had been there—the nervousness, the twitchy behavior, the covering of her arms.

No one knew she had borne a son when she was fourteen, then gave up that child for her relatives to raise. She needed help with her life, and Dean didn't have those tools available. Life was something he was trying to get through too-in one piece and with his family. Brenda would be his reference point to broken and alone.

He made it through the school day and baseball practice. By the end of the day it was revealed she had died from a drug overdose. Her mother, there was no father in the picture, had found her dead. Dean didn't know what happened to her in Evansville, if Andy's parents, her aunt and uncle, had pressed charges. By tomorrow Brenda would be forgotten, and if she was lucky there would be three lines in memoriam in the yearbook.

Once he got home he made macaroni and cheese for his brother and father. He toyed with the orange substance on his plate, pushed it around before making his announcement.

"She's dead." He put the fork down to explain further, "that girl, Brenda . . .heroin overdose."

Dean stared at his father, expecting him to make some sort of comment along the lines of, 'good riddance' or 'thank God that's over.' Fortunately, his father remained silent.

Sam glanced at his brother, but the young teen held his questions, showing prudence by waiting for John to retire to his bedroom after dinner.

"How did she know about us and that fire?" Sam kept his voice low in the kitchen, not wanting their father to overhear the conversation.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean replied softly. He tossed the paper products in the garbage, and left the pot to soak in the sink.

"I guess it's possible for her to notice patterns, but she was seventeen." Sam followed his brother around as Dean did his tasks. "What teenager notices stuff like that?"

Sam knew the Winchester brothers noticed patterns, but the youngest Winchester also reminded his older brother on a constant occasion they were different.

"I don't know." Dean answered, and exited the kitchen, shutting the light off. His brother remained attached to him.

"And then. . ." Sam continued.

Dean interjected in frustration. "Sam, when I figure it out you'll be the first to know. Just let it go." He picked up his backpack to do some homework. "You know sometimes don't you ever think that some things are supposed to be a mystery?" Dean wondered at what age Sam started asking him questions he couldn't answer. Had it been gradual or all it once? Either way Sam had to learn there was a reason why things were called 'unexplainable.' Perhaps this is what made him a good soldier, and why Sam was a dissenter. "We can't know everything."

"Says who?" The younger teen grinned wickedly at his brother. He patted himself on the chest. "I plan to know _everything_."

Dean snorted. "You do that." And with that the older teen tried to concentrate on his homework.

The older teen avidly read the obituary page the next morning to find out about the service. A ceremony was scheduled for the next day. Dean skipped school, expertly forging a note from his father. He couldn't remember his father actually writing any notes, seemed as though Dean had been doing it forever.

From the car he watched as the hearse arrived and unloaded the coffin. Dean watched as approximately twenty mourners entered the Episcopalian church. There were no fellow students. Dean assumed her friends would be there, but they had not been her friends, just people she was passed the time with. He stayed in the Impala as an impassive observer. The funeral finished in less than thirty-five minutes- short life, short homily.

He followed at a lengthy distance behind the cars bearing a funeral flag. He exited the Impala and watched as the coffin was lowered into the earth. Then small crows disbanded, going by Brenda's mother and a young man who was latched on to her arm. They offered condolences. Brenda's mother and the young man were the only two remaining. Dean marshaled his courage.

He cleared his throat, kept his back to the fake green grass covering a mound of dirt and the plot with the coffin inside. "Sorry about your loss." He kept his hands in his pockets, because touching Brenda's mother was too personal for a stranger. "I just think you should know she wasn't a bad person or anything." He didn't wait to hear the response. He hurriedly sought the Impala's refuge.

It was still early, and he should have returned to school, but instead he went to work at Palmer's. Extra money was always to his benefit. The rest of the week followed the same pattern except it would be punctuated by a baseball game on Friday.

--

To blend in with the rest of the suburban crowd Caleb bought a baseball cap from the last gas station. He had no idea what he was advertising or what team he was supporting. He found the field in Darlington easily enough, with the dirt parking lot filled with SUVs and reserved sedans.

Caleb made his way up the bleachers, choosing a quiet corner. Reaves was wearing a black long sleeve shirt, and the warm sun filtered through to his skin. Caleb looked out at the baseball diamond. It didn't take him much time to figure Dean's team colors were red and white. The older Winchester brother was alert as short stop.

The psychic looked at the score board- two out and bottom of the second inning. Dean was staring intently at the hitter. One strike, then another, a ball and then a hit, which Dean reacted to as it came his way. He dove to the left. He stretched, catching the ball before it hit the ground. The third out was called, and with a smile Dean jogged to the bench with the rest of his teammates.

Caleb watched, tapping his foot as he became bored. The other parents, especially the fathers, were avidly involved. They cheered on their children and supported them. Dean had been doing well at bat, and getting a respectable amount of clapping. His sixth time at the plate, Dean stepped into the batter box. He pulled the bat behind his head, and got into his stance. The first pitch came wide and was declared a ball. The pitcher tried again and Dean made contact, hitting the ball over the fence for a homeroom.

Caleb stood up. "Way to go, Deuce!"

As Dean rounded to second, he looked up, having heard Caleb. He shook his head with a grin, which only made Caleb yell louder until he realized he had drawn attention to himself. He waved sheepishly at the people sitting nearby and then sat down.

He politely clapped throughout the rest of the game. The game ended and the teams shook hands. Although it seemed congenial, Caleb could read the pissed off thoughts of the losing team. Reaves waited for Dean to say his good byes to his teammates, and then he joined the other hunter in the stands. He received warm pats on the back as he came up the bleachers. He bowed his head in embarrassment, not comfortable with losing his anonymity.

Caleb noticed the confidence Dean exuded in his uniform. The teen placed his equipment on the vacant seat in front of the psychic. He may have been trained a hunter, but he had a talent in another arena. "You're good at this."

"Good? I'm great." He sat down next to Caleb.

They watched as the crowd dwindled away until they were the only two left, staring out into the field.

"Thanks for coming. Sammy comes sometimes, but he gets bored and Dad's busy…" Dean let the excuses drift off, and returned the focus to Caleb. "Did you ever do any sports in school?"

"Not really." Reaves smiled, thinking of his time in high school.

"Clumsy? Cause I remember you were kind of gawky." Dean laughed, and elbowed his fellow hunter.

Caleb frowned at the insult. "Yeah, right, more like that whole psyche out mentality so popular in sports." Reaves grinned, pondering a memory. He then explained, "No fun when you can read your opponent's mind and freak them out with some trash talk."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, sounds like fun." He looked out at the field.

Caleb sighed. He had stopped at the Winchester homestead to get directions to the field. Sam had filled him in on their latest adventure. The young teen condensed the situation in two sentences. Caleb's psychic abilities filled in the rest. It led to Dean carrying guilt, fears and other burdensome talismans. "You wanna talk about it?" Reaves asked, breaking the companionable silence. "I dropped by the house and Sam told me about the girl." The psychic hoped to avoid the heavy conversation.

"No," Dean stated so quickly that even without his abilities Caleb knew it was a lie. The older teen liked to make it a challenge to share his feelings, and most of the times Reaves respected Dean's privacy. They were men after all and worked out their issues with some beer and a game of pool. But, as pseudo uncle, friend and confidant, Caleb felt he needed to be someone for Dean to talk to when needed, thankfully not too often. Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

"Do you believe in angels?" The teen fidgeted with his cleats, picking out the grass in between the metal grooves.

"Why are you asking me?" Caleb retorted. He was uncomfortable with this conversation. His belief system was too personal. He shared it with no one, not even his adopted father.

Dean sighed. "Because Brenda, the girl, said angels talked to her and told her about me, Sam, Mom, Dad and it all hit too close."

Caleb stared at the teen for a moment, studying him. Reaves blinked, deciding to risk and share a little piece of his soul. He believed in angels. "Yes."

"Yes? That's it?" Dean frowned.

"Yep." Reaves stretched out his legs. He felt the teen's frustration at the unsatisfactory answer. "Look, you tell this to anyone and I will hunt you down and make your life miserable." Caleb's stomach clenched. He did not enjoy exposing his feelings.

"Like you don't already do that," Dean quipped. He nudged Caleb's leg with his foot.

Caleb moved his legs away in annoyance. "You want to hear this or what?"

"Yeah," Dean eagerly nodded. And set his lips in a grim line to remain silent.

Reaves pulled off his cap and fixed his hair, setting the hat back in place before beginning. "I think there's something watching over us," he paused, tapping his foot before continuing. "Doing what we do, the shit we've been in, hell, it's more than luck and being good at what we do. . ."

"And do you think angels can talk to people?" Dean interrupted.

Caleb shrugged his shoulders, not committing to a reply. "Maybe my visions are divine intervention."

"Yeah, you try to believe that, Demon Spawn," Dean snickered.

Reaves slapped the back of the other hunter's head. "Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe she had some psychic abilities or hell little fairies came to visit her." Caleb tipped down his hat to shield his eyes. "Guess you'll never know, but I guess you were there for her when she needed someone. . ."

"I think it was a total fck up." Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Deuce," the psychic sighed. He wanted to reach out and touch Dean, but the two always had a no contact rule unless they were wrestling or fighting. "You're only seventeen. Part of growing up is about making mistakes." Caleb was proud of his comment. It was insightful, and something Mac would say if he had been there.

"Hell, Caleb, then your still in puberty." Dean interjected, but still remained leaning on his elbows.

"Cute," Reaves also folded his body, so he was in the same position as the teen.

Dean turned his head, looking at his friend. "You know we can't afford mistakes."

"You're allowed one." The psychic grinned.

"Only one?" Dean returned the smile.

Caleb stood up, feeling their conversation was coming to a close. There wasn't much more he could share or do, being brought up in the hunter life style was not an easy road. Caleb had confidence Dean would be fine in time. "Hell, it's actually three, but Jim doesn't publicize that in the manual."

"Am I ever going to get a manual?" Dean stood up, pulling his cap lower as the sun caused him to squint. He picked up his equipment, heaving it to his shoulder.

"Not any time soon," Caleb replied as he stepped down the bleacher seats. He waited for Dean at the bottom. "Are we done 'cause I sound like a very special episode of Blossom."

The teen nodded. He shifted his duffle bag to the other shoulder. "You buying dinner for the Winchester family?"

Caleb shook his head. "Your brother already told me I had to buy pizza."

"He's bossing you around. Glad I'm rubbing off on him." Dean fished the car keys from his bag, and headed for the Impala.

Caleb walked to his Jeep. "Just for that I'm getting anchovies," he yelled out.

"You're cruel, man," Dean replied from his parking spot a few cars away. He opened the trunk, placed his duffle bag inside and slammed it shut.

"You're welcome." Caleb answered. He started up the Jeep, pulling out, causing the dirt to dust up in his wake. He loved anchovies.

The end

Another note: Of course I have been watching Supernatural. I was disappointed with the characters of Jo and Ellen, but thrilled at the season premiere. Anyway I hope people will write to Kripke and give him feedback—share what you like about the show and what you don't (even if you like Jo and Ellen-ugh). Letters are important! Here are the addresses:

**Eric Kripke****  
****9465 Wilshire Blvd****  
****Suite 880****  
****Beverly Hills, California 90212****  
****USA**

And this one requires those in the US to use 63 cents in stamps (air mail)

Supernatural Films Inc

8085 Glenwood Dr.

Burnaby BC

V3N 5C8 Canada


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